


Idiots On Ice

by death_frisbee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Actual Drunk Sorority Girls Chris and Vitya, Angry Pining, Angry Yuri Plisetsky, Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, Pining, Unrequited Crush, Victor's haircut, Viktor with a K becaue I can't be bothered to change it, extra skaters being extra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_frisbee/pseuds/death_frisbee
Summary: A collection of one-shots about World Champion Ice Skaters being idiots. Updated whenever I write something dumb that I like.~Currently includes:*Drunken haircuts*Angry crushes





	1. The Real Reason Behind Viktor Nikiforov's Haircut

**Author's Note:**

> These are usually written pretty quick and mostly for myself and my bestie. So grammar and sub/dub dialogue and formatting can get wonky. It's all in good fun, fam.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, "An Inside Look at Actual Human Disasters Chris and Vitya"
> 
> A sort-of companion to [this story.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907483)

                “Just…let me give it one more try…”

                “OW! Дерьмо́!” Viktor hissed, then glared up at Chris. “Be _gentle!_ ”

                “ _J’essaie,_ Vitya! Just…”

                Another tug and another Russian expletive. Finally, Viktor shook his head before letting it fall back against the doorframe.

                “Chris…it’s over. Just…” He shut his eyes, tears already beginning to tremble at the edge of his lashes. “Just leave me to die.” He looked up at Chris with wet eyes, gripping his hands tightly. “до свидания, _mon ami._ ”

                “ _No._ I’ll save you. I _promise._ ” Chris’ own eyes filled with tears as he met Viktor’s gaze fiercely. He pulled his hands away to push his hair back as he glared at the bathroom door. Somehow, Viktor’s beautiful, waist-length hair—his _pride and joy_ —had gotten caught in the door. They had been here for nearly an hour now, trying to tug it out, but to no avail. Viktor was held prisoner by this terrible, awful, impenetrable door. They were out of options.

                Well…there was _one…_

                “ _No!_ ” Viktor shrieked the moment Chris mentioned it. “Chris, you can’t! You _can’t!_ I’ll die!”

                “You’re not _Raiponce_ , Vitya.” Chris blinked. “Is that how it happened? She dies when her hair’s cut, right?”

                “ _Nooo_ nononono. Non. Нет нет нет.” The tears were out full-force now, dripping down Viktor’s cheeks as he gasped for air. “рыбка, _non._ If you love me, you won’t do this to me.”

                “Shhhh. _Chut chut_.” Chris cupped Viktor’s face, tilting it to meet his eyes. “Listen to me. _Listen._ We need to free you. I won’t let you die here.” He swallowed. “It’ll hurt but we need to do it, Vitya. There’s no other way.”

                A full sob ripped from Viktor’s throat. “B-but…But _Chris._ I won’t…” He hiccoughed and wiped his nose; _goddamn,_ even when he was _ugly crying_ he was beautiful. “I won’t b-be pretty anymore!”

                Chris gasped, and his grip on Viktor’s face tightened. “You listen to me, Viktor Nikiforov. You don’t need your hair to be pretty. You…” Oh, now _he_ was crying too. “Y-you are the _prettiest skater_ in the _world_.”

                Another wave of tears erupted. “N-no! That’s _you_ , Chris. You…you don’t need pretty hair to be pretty!” Now he was gripping Chris’ face as well. “Yo-you look like an _angel!_ With your big зеленые глаза and the lashes and your perfect li-lips…” Viktor’s hands wandered, squishing Chris’ cheeks and lips. “I just have my hair!”

                “ _Viktor Nikiforov._ I _promise._ You will be _just as beau_ with short hair as long hair. You have to believe me. _Ouais?_ ”

                Viktor stared at him for a long moment, tears still leaking from his eyes. Finally, he swallowed. “ _Ou-ouais._ ”

                Chris nodded. “I’m gonna…I’ve got scissors in my bag. Stay here.” He turned, then grabbed a nearby half-full bottle of vodka and handed it to Viktor. “Take a few drinks of this. It’ll calm you down. It’s just like…just like a bandage, _d’accord?_ ”

                Viktor sniffled and nodded as he uncorked the bottle. As he gulped down a few drinks, Chris dug in his bag.

                Oh, _merde._ All he had were eyebrow scissors. _Ben, il se rendrait._ Viktor’s life depended on it, and he wasn’t going to let a shitty pair of scissors stop him from saving his best friend.

                Viktor whimpered as Chris came back, shaking his head pathetically.

                “Shhhh, Vitya. It’ll be over soon,” Chris assured, kissing the top of his head. Viktor swallowed and held out a hand.

                “Please, рыбка. I need you to hold my hand through this. _S’il te plait._ ”

                “I can’t cut your hair if I’m holding your hand.” When Viktor whimpered again, Chris stuck out his leg. “Here, hold that.”

                Viktor’s hand wrapped tightly around his calf in reply.

                “Okay, Vitya. Be brave. It’ll be over soon.”

                Viktor sucked in a deep breath and squeezed Chris’ calf. Then, carefully, Chris began to snip away.

                The scissors really were terrible, but luckily Viktor’s hair was terrifically fine. So it didn’t take too terribly long for Chris to hack through it. And, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Viktor was finally able to pull his head away from the door. He collapsed against Chris with an exhausted sob, and not two minutes later was passed out against him.

                Chris let out a sigh and fell back on the floor, hugging Viktor to him. They truly were heroes in this moment, going through hell and coming out alive. He stroked Viktor’s mangled hair for a moment, then felt the sweet embrace of a well-deserved sleep.

~

                Chris’ head pounded. His back hurt from sleeping on the floor, and his limbs were tangled around a mostly-naked Viktor Nikiforov. Typically, that meant they’d had a really, _really_ good night.

                Ah, but now it was time for the second half of their annual bender—where they huddled under the covers and sipped on Bloody Marys and tea until their coaches yelled at them to get to the damn airport before they missed the plane.

                Deciding to see what the damage was from the night before, Chris hesitantly peeked an eye open. Viktor’s face, of course, was the first thing he saw—his nose was red and his eyes were puffy (though through whatever black magic coursed through Viktor Nikiforov, he still looked _breathtaking_ ); they must have caught a particularly romantic movie last night. He pulled his head up to look over themselves for any new tattoos or piercings.

                He couldn’t stop the yelp as he saw the mess on top of Viktor’s head.

                “Mm, shhh.” Viktor’s hand waved toward Chris to quiet him. Chris, meanwhile, sat in quiet horror, hand pressed to his mouth. Viktor’s hair—his beautiful, _beautiful_ hair, his pride and joy—was a horrid, choppy mess. Some chunks grazed his cheekbones, other pieces nearly reached his shoulder. What had happened? What monster would do this to his precious, sweet Vitya?

                Chris’s eyes drifted over to a pair of eyebrow scissors beside him. _His_ eyebrow scissors.

                But…but he wouldn’t! He would never do that to Viktor! Unless…some jealous rage had taken over last night? But what could he be jealous of? Yes, Viktor was a beautiful elven prince from a fairy tale and yes, he’d won gold at the GPF the night before…

                That was it. He must have been so jealous of Viktor’s hundredth win that he’d cut Viktor’s hair.

                Drunk Chris was a _monster._

                Viktor stirred beside him, groaning. “Mm…Я чувствую себя говно…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He pushed himself up and looked around. “Wow, three vodkas, one cognac…how much wine do you think we had? What a night.”

                Chris stayed frozen in place. Maybe Viktor wouldn’t notice. He turned to Chris and smiled.

                “Just the two of us in the room, though, so I guess we didn’t get into _too_ much trouble.” He pushed his hands through his hair to comb through it.

                Chris felt his soul fly right out of his body as he watched Viktor freeze. He pulled his hands away from the mess and stared up at Chris with wide, blue eyes.

                “What…happened to my hair?”

                The dam broke. “I don’t know! I can’t remember! But Vitya, I am so, _so_ sorry. I mean, I don’t know _qui a_ came out but you know I can be a _completement_ different person when I drink and I never, _ever_ thought I would…”

                “ _You_ did this?” Viktor’s voice was a whisper.

                Chris’ heart shattered, and he swallowed as he gestured to the eyebrow scissors. “ _Please_ , Viktor. I don’t… _Je ne me souviens rien._ Прости меня, Пожалуйста!”

                With this last exclamation, Chris threw himself at Viktor. After a too-long moment, Viktor tightly wrapped his arms around him.

                “Of course I forgive you,” he whispered. “I…I don’t know why you did this. But…but it’s not _you_ , Chris. I know you better than that.”

                Chris let out a shuddering breath, tucking his head against Viktor’s neck. Viktor’s shoulders shook. Was he crying? He peeked up.

                Oh, no, he was about to throw up.

                Chris abruptly pulled away, and Viktor stumbled up to his feet, lunging forward to open the bathroom door.

                The whole world stopped, for a moment, as two feet of beautiful silver hair easily fell from between the door and the doorframe.

                _Oh._ So _that’s_ what happened.

                As Viktor puked in the bathroom—from a combination of stress and downing at least half of his body weight in alcohol the night before—Chris pulled out his phone to make an emergency call to a stylist he knew in the area. No, the appointment wasn’t for him, funny story actually…

~

                The story that Viktor gave everyone—Yuuri included—was that he was trying to shed his old image. The haircut was a change of pace. It surprised the audience, and _of course_ everyone knew that Viktor lived to surprise the audience. Yes, he missed his long hair. But he’d always been taught to never look back on the past.

                Chris was the only one who knew the truth. And, excellent friend that he was, he would take it straight to the grave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Дерьмо́ - Shit!
> 
> J’essaie - I’m trying
> 
> “до свидания, mon ami - Goodbye, my friend 
> 
> Raiponce - Rapunzel
> 
> рыбка - little fish 
> 
> Chut - Shush
> 
> зеленые глаза - green eyes 
> 
> Ouais - yeah
> 
> D’accord - okay
> 
> Ben, il se rendrait - Well, he’d manage. 
> 
> S’il te plait - Please
> 
> Я чувствую себя говно - I feel like shit 
> 
> qui a - who had
> 
> completement - completely
> 
> Je ne me souviens rien. - I don’t remember anything 
> 
> Прости меня, Пожалуйста! - Please forgive me!


	2. In Which Yuri Plisetsky DEFINITELY Does Not Have A Crush

                As much as Yuri liked to say that he _knew_ he was right about _everything_ , he was painfully aware that sometimes he made mistakes. He usually managed okay, because he was _awesome_ and yelling seemed to fix most problems. Case in point: he found Viktor after flying to Japan despite not knowing a lick of Japanese purely because he yelled his name a lot. Yelling worked.

                But, after this mistake, yelling didn’t work. Punching his wall didn’t work. He even tried to flip his bed, but it was too heavy, so he kicked it over and over. But that didn’t work, either. So, for the first time in his young life, Yuri had to think about how to fix a problem. And he might…

                … _have to talk to someone._

                But who? Grandpa? No, Grandpa would listen, but he wouldn’t really get it. Mama? _No._ Ugh, god no, she’d coo over him and tell him how cute he was being. Mila would do the same thing. Georgi would start crying probably. Maybe Yakov? He wouldn’t get it. He did still have Viktor’s number…

                No.

                _Viktor could never know._

                Surprisingly, this whole… _issue_ didn’t start until after the Onsen on Ice bullshit. Clearly, whatever weird practice regimen Viktor was doing with Yuuri was working, because he ended up winning. Even though Yuri was _clearly_ the better skater, the minute that stupid pig got on the ice, something changed. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Yuri wasn’t sure if it was Katsudon’s face or steps or some sort of weird black magic demon stuff (which, admittedly, would have been _really cool._ ). So he decided to watch some of his old videos to find out what it was. Know your enemy and all that.

                This had been the mistake.

~

                Before this, he’d only seen the pig skate at the Sochi GPF. He’d been impressed with his short program—and even more impressed by the _death glare_ he’d given the camera while waiting for his score. Most skaters were all smiles or tears in the kiss and cry, but not Yuuri Katsuki. That’s the kind of skater Yuri wanted to be next year: stony-faced after success, too confident to be moved even by a personal best score.

                Yuuri Katsuki was _so cool._

                But then there was the free skate. And Katsuki had just fallen to pieces. He fell, _twice_. What was wrong? Was he sick? Yuri wondered if buying one of his posters had been a bad idea. Maybe it had jinxed him.

                If Yuri’s faith in Katsuki had wavered during that terrible skate, it was renewed when he went to the kiss and cry. _Again_ , there was that death glare to the camera! _So cool!!_ Yuuri Katsuki didn’t give a shit and it was _awesome!_

                Once the final was over (Viktor had won again, _big whoop_. Yuri would fix that next year) and Yakov was off yelling at Viktor for whatever reason, Yuri slipped away. He was going to find Katsuki. He had to meet this cool, collected skater face to face. He’d probably have better tips for next year than Airhead Nikiforov.

                Yuri pulled the hood of his jacket up and stuck his hands into his pockets, slinking through the halls. He had to look cool when he talked to Katsuki. It wasn’t like he was a dumb fanboy or anything. He was basically an equal. They were just gonna talk. Like skaters. _Cool skaters._

                It took him a minute to realize the nerdy guy with glasses walking down the hall was actually Katsuki. He looked so different on the ice. Maybe it was to deflect the tons of fans he probably had. He was so much smarter than Viktor; stupid _Viktor_ just kept making the fan problem worse. Maybe getting a pair of glasses would get those damn Yuri’s Angels off his back.

                Well, he’d get cool glasses. Like, cheetah print ones. But still.

                Yuri focused as he watched Katsuki slip into the bathroom, phone out. Huh? What was he doing in there? Maybe he was going to fire his coach for making him lose! _Ohh_ , that’d be cool to see! Yuri slinked out from the hall and leaned against a wall for a moment. He didn’t want to be _creepy._ So he waited, just for a little bit, then slipped into the bathroom.

                Immediately, he heard sniffling from the middle stall, and someone speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. Probably one of the sucky Juniors. Yuri was always surprised at what _babies_ the other competitors could be. Some of them were even _older_ than him.

                Well, let that baby cry. He was looking for Katsuki. He had to be in here somewhere, letting his coach have it over the phone. But all the other stalls were empty, save for the one the crying was coming from. So…

                No.

                _NO._

                Yuri stared hard at the stall. This couldn’t be happening. It _couldn’t_. It couldn’t be _Yuuri Katsuki_ crying in there. But he was so cool! So collected! He looked like he was gonna murder someone in the kiss and cry! So how could…why would…

                As Yuri’s view of his new idol crumbled before him, he shook slightly. Rage began to fill him, and before he could stop himself, he kicked the stall door as hard as he could. A little yelp came from inside. Then, slowly, it opened.

                Yuri glared at the man— _if he could even call him that after crying like a little girl!_ —who opened the stall. Stupid Katsuki with his stupid glasses and his stupid falls. Katsuki froze up right in front of him, looking terrified. That just made Yuri even more angry. Where was the scary face he was wearing earlier?

                _Where was the Yuuri Katsuki he had seen on the ice?_

                He tried to find what to say. How could he bring back the other Yuuri Katsuki? The cool one? He glared for a moment longer, then pointed at Yuri.

                “ _Hey._ ”

                Katsuki didn’t respond. Yuri grit his teeth.

                “I’m competing in the Senior division next year. We don’t need two Yuris in the same bracket.” Yuri spat out the name. To think, just a few hours ago he thought it was _cool_ that they had the same name. “Maybe you should just retire already…” The rage bubbled out of him, and he shoved his face as close as he could to Katsuki’s as he yelled, “ _LOSER!_ ”

                He deliberately kept his walk slow as he exited the bathroom, making sure his words resonated with Katsuki. Hopefully he’d see it as a challenge. If one Yuri loved facing a challenge, the other would, too, right? _Right?!_

                As he slunk down the halls, he came across Yakov.

                “ _There_ you are! I swear, Yuri, you’re just as bad as Viktor when it comes to…” Yakov trailed off, catching the glower still on Yuri’s face. “Yurochka? What’s wrong?”

                “ _I don’t wanna talk about it!_ ”

~

                This dumb… _thing_ did kind of explain a lot. It explained why he put up with Katsudon’s drunk bullshit at the Banquet. Sure, at first, he’d taken the dance contest as Katsuki’s attempt to challenge Yuri back. But…well, he was kind of fun and actually not a bad dancer (though Yuri was better) and…

                _Ugh_. No. Focus, Yura.

                It also explained why he didn’t immediately tear up the poster of Katsuki when he got home. He’d actually put it up on his wall, naturally, as a reminder of who he had to beat. Next year was going to be a competition of _honor_. He was going to make Katsuki work if he decided not to be a loser and retire. And maybe once in a while he’d laid in bed and stared at it while marveling over how Katsuki was so nerdy and awful off-ice, but how he was absolutely breath-takin—

                _Goddammit._

                Anyway. Back to after Onsen on Ice. As mentioned earlier, he’d pulled up every video he could of the pig’s skating before the Grand Prix Fuckup, as a way to gauge what he did that made him so spellbinding. He watched his routines from Juniors, from the Japanese Nationals, from his practice sessions in Detroit. He watched them all again. And _again._

                The question of why Yuuri Katsuki was so amazing on ice wasn’t answered.

                But the question of why Yuri was so obsessed with him _was._

                And he _hated_ it.

                So now he had to win. He had to train harder. And he told everyone that it was because that stupid pig had taken Viktor from Russia, so he had to prove that he didn’t need Viktor to win the GPF this year. And every time he saw an update of Katsudon’s progress, he was _that much more_ motivated to be better than him.

~

                Yuuko was the worst thing that ever happened to him. She reminded him of Mama, honestly; all enthusiasm and  supportive of him even from abroad. She even kept texting him after Onsen on Ice and listened to his bitching about Lilia and Yakov.

                That wasn’t why she was terrible. She was terrible because she kept giving him updates about the pig. Sure, some of them were prompted by him, but _damn it_ , it wasn’t like _he_ could stop himself from asking about stupid Katsudon! She should know not to tell him!

                She was also terrible because she was teaching him Japanese. “In case you come back,” she said, sending a stupid little heart emoji. Granted, it was hard to learn Japanese via text. But one of the things that stuck was how to write his name.

                ユーリ. プリセツキー.

                If he’d had _literally any other name in the world_ , that would have been cool to know. He’d write it _everywhere_ , because Japanese looked cool and he could brag about it. But one idle thought, tapped out in a moment of weakness, had ruined this forever.

                “is that how the other yuri spells his name too?”

                Given the amount of emojis that followed, Yuuko’s nose was probably gushing blood. (Because that was just a thing that happened to Japanese people???) He shut his phone off immediately and hid in his room for the next eighteen hours.

                Most of that time was spent kicking his bed enough to scare poor Potya off of it while blasting loud music over his headphones to drown out the shame.

                A very small, insignificant part of it was spent listening to some dumb love song he’d downloaded on a whim. And, while listening, he _definitely_ didn’t get teary over the injustice of being so misunderstood in the seriousness of his situation, and he sure as hell didn’t write out, in tiny, tiny characters, “Юрий + ユーリ”before scribbling angrily over them.

                He wasn’t some _sap._

~

                Yuri really needed to burn that damn poster.

                He’d brought it with him to Lilia’s to motivate him. To remind himself why he was fighting so hard, and whose ~~beautiful~~ STUPID UGLY FAT FACE he wanted to smash into the ice with his GPF victory. It was brought solely because of _that reason_. Definitely not because, after all of his purely academic searching of images, he thought it was one of the best official portraits of the pig yet. _Certainly not_ because he found himself admiring the way Katsudon held himself in that pose. _Absolutely not_ because it’s one of the few portraits where you can see that the pig’s eyes are a soft brown and a few pieces of hair had fallen across his forehead and his lips are slightly parted and maybe once or twice or five times in the middle of the night a stupid thought had entered Yuri’s head and he might have stood up on tiptoes and leaned forward to…

                The first night Lilia wakes up to find Yuri Plisetsky screaming into a pillow, she worries. After that, she just lets him keep going until he feels better.

                God knows she did the same thing at his age.

~

                Mila prodded him into watching the Cup of China. “We have to support Georgi,” she’d said.

                _Hag._ She knew exactly who they were going to watch, and it sure as hell wasn’t Georgi.

                But he’d be fine. He’d be _fine._ He’d already seen the Eros routine, like, eighty times. He could probably skate it himself if he wanted to.

                Skate it himself _and look better doing it._

                He tried to look as indifferent as possible as the pig got on the ice. He watched the tv with complete disinterest. His heart _definitely_ didn’t jump as ~~Yuuri~~ _the stupid ugly pig_ landed a perfect quad Salchow, using the exact method Yuri had taught him. When Mila pointed out that he’d tugged his straw out of his juice box during Katsudon’s performance, he loudly informed her that he’d done that on purpose and anyway juice boxes were for babies.

                Due to some bad luck and thirst, his juice box was empty. Otherwise, he absolutely would have sprayed fruit punch right into Mila’s stupid face due to the smug look she gave him.

                Even so, he managed all right with Eros. Basically complete disinterest. But then came the pig’s free skate the next day. He hadn’t seen that one fully.

                _Goddamn_ , he hadn’t been prepared.

                His eyes were transfixed as he watched Yuuri skate. If he had been spellbinding before, he was an angel now. Yuri couldn’t even get angry about the falls and over-rotation. Katsuki was the picture of grace: neck outstretched, arms graceful, step sequence flawless. Yuri stared, jaw dropped and throat tight, as Katsuki tried to land the quad flip. It didn’t work, but the fact that he _even tried_ to do something on Viktor’s level…

                Yuuri finished, hand outstretched toward the camera, chest heaving and brown eyes wide and clearly _so, so proud of himself_. Yuri felt his heart flip. A part of his brain whispered, _Let yourself have this. Succumb. Let yourself acknowledge that you have a cru_ —

                And that’s when Viktor kissed the pig right on international television.

                Mila whistled. “Well, guess we should’ve expected this from our Viktor. But that was some performance, don’t you…Yura, are you crying?”

                _“No!_ ”

                He definitely wasn’t crying. He definitely wasn’t jealous. He just…

                _He wanted to win so badly,_ was all.

~

                The road to the GPF is hard enough without this… _thing._ So Yuri pushes it down and focuses. Before, he’d just wanted to win to prove to Katsudon that he was the better skater and that he was the best Yuri and that only _losers_ cried and got kissed on television.

                _But then that shithead JJ came along._

                Twice— _fucking twice!_ —that self-absorbed Canadian snuck in and grabbed the gold. Even after Yuri snagged a _personal best!_ He’d been so thrown that he’d actually caved and been _nice_ to Katsudon. (Well, sort of. He’d still kicked him and yelled at him, and most of the motivation was showing how cool his Grandpa was.) He wasn’t even bothered by the fact that he slipped and more or less wished him a happy early birthday (which was November 29 th and it didn’t matter how he knew that.)

                Yuuri Katsuki wasn’t his target anymore. Now, _JJ was the one to beat_.

                He could lose to Katsudon (he wouldn’t, but that wasn't the point) and be okay if it meant that _fucking JJ_ was below him. But _god_ , that first place spot on the podium would be the best place to watch JJ squirm in his failure. So no more Grandpa, no more Katsudon.

                His motivation was _ruining JJ’s life._

                And, surprise, it worked.

                The _thing_ creeps up again when he stands on the podium with Katsudon and Otabek (who, by the way, was his new super-cool best friend). Despite losing, the pig is still genuinely happy. Maybe he really is proud of Yuri. Maybe it’s from the engagement (?) or because he’s glad Yuri kept him from retiring like an idiot. But he’s smiling and care-free and _goddammit_ , for a moment Yuri wonders if that whole “skating for love or whatever” thing actually wasn’t bullshit.

                But then he remembers that he won his gold purely out of spite, and that snaps him out of thinking like a sap.

~

                For one bright shining moment after the GPF, Yuri thought he finally, _finally_ had someone to talk about _this_ with. He had a _friend._ One that he made on his own! Surely Otabek would have some advice on what to do with this.

                But there was one problem.

                Beka… _was really, really cool._

                He was a DJ! He skated like he was in a war! He rode a cool scooter and wore sunglasses inside and was technically an adult and went to cool clubs and he was _just so cool._

                And the coolest thing of all was that _he thought Yuri was cool, too._ He said he had the eyes of a soldier. The _eyes_ of a _soldier!_ That was, by far, _THE COOLEST_ thing anyone had ever said about him ever.

                But this whole thing with Katsudon was definitely _not_ cool. He’d just come off as some dumb, drooling teenage fanboy. So Beka could never know.

                But there was a _problem._

                The pig had moved to St. Petersburg. So now they were _rinkmates._ And he’d expected it’d be like when he’d become Viktor’s rinkmate: he’d finally see all of the flaws and how terrible Katsudon was when he was around him for more than a week. He was expecting _relief._

                Instead, he was pretty sure he was in hell.

                Shitty Katsudon was _nice_ to him. He invited him over to his and Viktor’s place or when they went to explore the city. He asked for help with translations when Viktor wasn’t around and taught him how to use chopsticks. _Sometimes he called him “Yura” instead of “Yurio” and it made him want to die._

                He had to talk about it. He had to get this awful strangling feeling that was nice but also _the worst thing in the entire world_ out of his chest. If he didn’t, he would probably die. And it’d be _the lamest way to die ever_.

                But again, _who_ could he talk to? Beka was too cool. Lilia would probably tell him to kill that part of himself (to which he would yell back _“What do you think I’ve been trying to do, hag?!”_ And then he’d have to do an hour of _grand adages_.) Yakov and Grandpa wouldn’t understand, because they were old men. Mama and Mila would be terrible. And Viktor… _god no._

                But _who_? Who would understand the pain of having a…..c     r    u    s    h……..on someone who would probably never, ever think of him that way?      

                No.

                _No._

                _NooooooooooOOOOOOOOOO._

~

                Hell wasn’t having your crush live nearby and be friendly to you. It wasn’t having your crush be a rinkmate and constantly have to look at his _stupid fat beautiful face_ on the ice while listening to his fiancé gush over _how beautiful_ his stupid fat beautiful face was. It wasn’t having catching your crush making out with said fiancé in the locker room when all you _fucking_ wanted was to _put on your skates._

                Hell was your crush being _the best option to talk to about having a crush on him._

                “Did you mean to text me this morning?” the pig asked as they warmed up. Yuri felt like he was going to throw up.

                “If I didn’t want to text you, I wouldn’t have sent it, _dumbass_.” Yuri hissed out the insult to really drive home the fact that Katsudon wasn’t that important to him and he totally hadn’t been staring at his phone for an hour before finally sending the ‘i wanna talk after practice” text to him.

                The stupid pig stared at him curiously, but nodded. “What do you want to talk about?”

                “I’ll tell you after practice.” Yuri hopes his face isn’t red, because Jesus _Christ_ does he not need that right now, and he skates away. To try and combat the anxious feeling building in his chest, he does a quad Salchow right there and then.

                It doesn’t help much, but it does look cool.

                 Practice drags on _forever._ Yakov makes him do drills like some novice. Viktor and Yuuri are _all over each other_ on the ice, giggling and kissing and generally just _being gross_. Yuri debates calling off the stupid talk and just going home to throw up instead. But that won’t make him feel any better. He _has_ to do this, even if it’s the worst thing he’s ever done.

                The two Yuris exit the ice while Viktor hangs back to be yelled at by Yakov probably for being an idiot. In the locker room, Katsudon is the one who brings up Yuri’s impending death.

                “So what did you want to—”

                “Not here!” Yuri hisses, then glares down at his skates. “I don’t want Viktor to hear. Just…just you.”

                He chances up a glance at the pig, who looks surprised and…what, touched?...at his statement. He quickly adds, “Will you be able to survive being away from him that long, pig?”

                Yuuri gives him that infuriating smile that says he knows Yuri’s being prickly on purpose, and he says, “I think I can manage for a little bit, yeah.”

                Katsudon doesn’t say any more on the subject, even after they’re changed and marching out into the Russian winter. Yuuri pulls out his phone—probably to text Viktor some gushy love crap—and Yuri tries not to look at him or think about how it’s kind of cute that his ears get red in the cold because that’s a LAME and STUPID thing to think about.

                Yuri leads the way into the first café he sees, with Katsudon following quietly after. When the idiot fumbles his order, Yuri barks it out for him. He orders the same tea with milk at every place, it’s not like Yuri _pays attention_ or anything.

                It’s not until they’re both sitting, hot drinks in hand, in a very cute corner of the café that would be a very nice area for a date that would _never ever_ happen, that Katsudon decides it’s time for Yuri to die.

                “So what did you want to talk about?”

                Yuri fidgets. He takes a long drink of tea. He burrows his nose into his scarf. Yuuri is annoyingly patient with him, watching him with those stupid doe eyes. Finally, Yuri swallows, keeping half his face buried in his scarf.

                “What do you do...when you like someone?” Yuri grimaces and tries to burrow deeper into his scarf. “Like… _really_ like them?”

                Immediately Yuuri’s face softens, and he smiles. “I’m…not really sure I’m the right person to ask about this, Yura.”

                “ _Yes_ , you are. Everyone else would be stupid about it.” The pig will probably be stupid, too, but with Yuri’s current condition, he could tolerate that stupidity. He watched Yuuri hard, frowning beneath his scarf, as the pig stayed quiet, stupidly soft brown eyes staring down at his cup. Was he just not going to talk? Was that better or worse?

                “Okay, but _really_. I…don’t know what to suggest to you. Tell them?”

                “Нет _._ ”

                “Why?”

                Yuri grimaces as he feels his face grow hot. He hated this. _Hated. This._ Maybe he could just strangle himself with his scarf. “H-They’re seeing someone.”

                “Oh…”

                “I don’t want your pity, pig! I want a solution!” Yuri snaps, earning a couple glances their way.

                Yuuri puffs out a breath, looking away. “I…I don’t know what to tell you.” He gave a small smile, an awful one that made Yuri’s heart ache so hard he nearly punched himself in the chest. “I know you’ll think I’m a loser for this, but…it’s only been Viktor since I was twelve. I spent most of my life pining for someone who didn’t know I even existed. I didn’t think he’d ever see me like I saw him.”

                “That’s exactly how I feel,” Yuri blurts before he could stop himself. “And it _sucks._ It really _sucks!_ ”

                “I know it does.”

                “And then I see him and if he does _literally anything,_ I just…it’s like I’m having a heart attack and it doesn’t stop and I like it but I also really, really _hate_ it, Katsudon. I hate it _so much!_ ”

                “Having a crush is the worst,” Yuuri agrees.

                “ _It is!_ ”

                This conversation is surprisingly…not terrible. Yuri seemed to be doing a good job of keeping Katsudon in the dark, and Yuuri was giving him _exactly_ the kind of sympathy he’d been dying for. Which probably wouldn’t help in the crush department, but in the moment, it feels so _good_ to get it all out. Yuri slumps forward, chin plopping into his hands.

                “The worst is when he skates,” he mutters, looking at his quickly cooling tea. “He’s like something out of a dream. Like the moment he’s out there…”

                “The whole world stops, and it’s just him.” Yuuri says these words slowly, and Yuri starts to nod, but he freezes as he catches the emotions flitting over Katsudon’s face.

                Realization.

                Guilt.

                Distress.

                Sympathy.

                _Shit._

                Yuri sits up straight, eyes wide. For the first time in his life, he’s speechless. He fucked up. He really, _really_ fucked up.

                _Katsudon knew._

                Was there even any way to recover from this? Should he just die? What was the quickest way to manage that? He was already in hell, so it wouldn’t be any worse than just sitting here, staring at Katsudon who now _totally knew that he had a crush on him_.

                Just as Yuri was about to throw the table and run, a hand reached out to rest on his arm. If he wasn’t in shock, he would have thrown it off and continued with the table plan. But considering his entire world was crumbling at the moment, he couldn’t do anything more than stare up at Yuuri—stupid fucking beautiful shitty understanding asshole Yuuri—mutely and wait for the inevitable, “ _Oh, Yurochka, I’m so sorry…_ ”

                It didn’t come immediately. For a long moment, Yuuri simply stared at him. He wasn’t mad—which was good but also not because if he’d been mad then they could fight and Yuri was good at that—but he didn’t look too happy either. After a long moment, he moved his chair closer. What was he doi—?

                Yuri’s crumbling world came to a grinding halt as the stupid pig pulled him into a tight hug.

                This wasn’t like the Rostelecom Cup. He couldn’t fight this; he was in too much shock. So he just sat there, stock still, as Yuuri gave him what had to be one of the top five best hugs in his life.

                “It _sucks_ ,” Yuuri finally whispered. “I know it does. It’s the worst thing in the world. And…and it’s really, _really_ unfair that I got the ending I did.”

                Yuri manages a stiff nod. Yuuri just hugs him tighter and he feels himself melt, just a bit, into the hug before Yuuri pulls back to look at him with the most hopeful, wonderful smile he’d ever seen.

                “But Yura, you’re _amazing._ Look at what you did at the GPF, and I know you’re gonna make us all work three times as hard at Worlds!” His look softened, and his smile warmed. “You’ll find your own Viktor someday, I know you will.”

                Yuri’s soul is forcibly ejected from his body.

                “You think…I… _Viktor?!_ ”

                “Like I said, I completely understand, and…” Yuuri’s cut off as Yuri gets to his feet and kicks his chair back. “Yu—”

                “ _This conversation’s over, pig!_ ”

                  It turned out, hell _wasn’t_ talking to your crush about your feelings for him.

                Hell was _having your crush think you liked Viktor FUCKING Nikiforov._


End file.
